


The Maitre d’ of Marmora

by SineadRivka



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Antok/Kolivan if you squint, Blades of Marmora, Canon Disabled Character, Coran is quietly badass, Corporate corruption, Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Is this enough tags?, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith's Dad has a disability, Keith's Dad lives, Keith's dad is Heath, M/M, Marmora is a restaurant, NASA!Shiro, Rated T for language, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, The AU you need, The AU you weren't asking for, background romances, chef competitions, culinary competitions, culinary school, first RPF in a while, i'm not a cook, really i suck at it but this wouldn't let me not write it, save for a rainy day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SineadRivka/pseuds/SineadRivka
Summary: Tale as old as time. Celebrity pilot walks into bookstore, wins over bookstore as a safe haven. Bookseller falls in love with celebrity pilot, introduces him to the family restaurant. Cue the celebrity melting into foodie fanboy puddle before he goes and becomes a famous pilot all over again. But this isn't really about how they met. It's about how they grew together after Shiro lost everything and Keith was there to catch him and help him rebuild.





	The Maitre d’ of Marmora

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the bookstore/restaurant AU that nobody asked for but I must write anyway. Buckle up, buttercups. It’s LONG for a one-shot and I shoved all the warm-fuzzies into this that I could.
> 
> Please be aware that there are more than one disabled characters written in here, and hints of other disabilities both physical and mental. If you disagree with how I have portrayed these characters, please feel free to be respectful as you comment. I have many family and friends who have disabilities and have faced similar struggles as what I've written here. No two experiences are alike, but we should be respectful of all struggles.
> 
> Just this morning, I was reminded that I don't "have it as bad" as some of my friends when it comes to my physical or mental struggles. Regardless, my struggle is valid.
> 
> So is your struggle.

The first time that Keith saw Takashi Shirogane was long before the _Kerberos Slingshot_.

Everyone at the bookstore fell in love with him for one reason or another. Some loved how polite and unassuming he was. Some loved his sense of humor. Some loved that he was a celebrity that enjoyed the small-town independent bookstore. Some loved that he was eyecandy. Some loved that he could just diffuse irritable customers while waiting in line with a purchase. Some just loved how he would reshelve the books he pulled out to skim, casually read, or sit entranced within in the café.

Keith fell in love with him for _every_ reason.

Shiro was everything that Keith wanted to be but had none of the connections needed in order to attain those goals. Shiro was the face of the upcoming _Kerberos Slingshot_ , the youngest astronaut of the pool that had been chosen for the chance to pilot the risky figure-eight that _Kerberos_ would carve between Earth and Mars. There had been many probes and unmanned crafts controlled remotely through almost a hundred research missions and test-flights. When the third-most-recent attempt had been struck by debris while approaching Mars, its navigation computer crashed.

Shiro had leapt into the virtual pilot seat and began the twelve-hour-long process, saving millions of dollars of equipment and proving his mettle as a pilot who can handle disaster and keep going. His shift had almost been over when shit had hit the fan, and the moment that another pilot could be found to replace him, he had been shuffled off to a small room off of the side of the control center and he fell onto an air mattress to sleep for another twelve hours.

He woke into a hero’s welcome, his name spoken in every household.

Keith idolized him, and was tongue-tied when Shiro had walked up to _him_ to ask him for recommendations for a good series of novels or a prolific author. After drawing in a deep breath, the younger man said, “I’m all about science fiction and fantasy, so I don’t know if that’s up your alley?”

Shiro grinned at the inflection. “Well, why not let me decide about that. What are you currently reading?”

“Alien conspiracy theories,” Keith replied on auto, then sighed and looked up to the paneled ceiling for patience for himself. “Which—”

“Okay, so start me on three of your favorite conspiracy books, then let’s go through the fantasy section.”

And he started off, knowing _exactly_ where conspiracy theories in the metaphysical section were, and Keith completely forgot that it was a famous person debating the authenticity of sightings. They bickered all through genre fiction because Shiro insisted that a few of Michael Crichton’s works _could_ be listed under both mystery and horror, even though Keith replied that there was too much in the way of science fiction incorporated into Crichton’s worldbuilding.

And this happened weekly over the next year and a half, sometimes more than once. Sometimes, Shiro’s fiancé came with him to the bookstore. Keith and Adam were friendly, but Keith could tell that Adam really was more of a chain store kind of person, rather than the mom’n’pop stores in the area that Shiro seemed to constantly be asking about.

And then one day, Shiro leaned against an empty endcap. “I got chosen for the mission.”

“Shut _up_ , no you didn’t,” Keith breathed, leaning closer with eyes wide. “That’s so _awesome_ , Shiro!”

“I _know_ , and I’m trying not to lose my mind over this, but I had to tell someone.”

“What about your fiancé? Shouldn’t _he_ know?”

“He knows, but . . . he’s not happy about it. He wants me to stay grounded for my health. Says that I could make my condition’s progression increase in rate.”

Keith had known that Shiro was born with a condition that would eventually cripple him. But while he was able to be mobile, he was going to be living as much of his life as possible. “He’s another pilot, not a doctor, Shiro. I mean, I’m worried about you too, sure, but this is _your_ life. Don’t let someone else make you regret not living it the way that you want it to go.”

With a sad smile, Shiro whispered, “I know. That’s why I’m going to do it.”

The bookseller stopped cold. “Shiro, what does that mean?”

“It means that he broke up with me, and I really couldn’t stand being at home while he moved out today.”

“I’m so sorry,” Keith sighed. “Look, stick around a while, and if he’s not done by four, I get off-shift then and we can grab a couple beers or mixed drinks or whatever down the block. I know the owners of a place and they can keep you off-radar so asshole patrons don’t disturb you.”

Shiro shook his head with a watery laugh. “Keith, I’m not asking for a pity-date.”

“What? I’m not _offering_ a date, pity or real. If I was, it’d be _real_ and I’d ask you to come over for acceptable takeout and that new Gaia streaming service thing with the aliens-built-the-tower-of-babel documentary. This is _friendship_ , Shiro. I’m not so shitty a person to want to fuck up what’s already an amazing friendship with you.”

“Yeah? And why’s that? Are my medical issues or career choice holding you back?”

“No! Oh my God, you’re one of the smartest people I know but you’re a fucking _dumbass_.”

Shiro’s head snapped up. Distantly, they heard Coran, the owner of the new-and-used bookstore yell, _“Kogane, what did I say about language?!”_ They both ignored him.

Keith’s purple eyes were hard, gemlike. “You’re my _friend_ , and I value you as my friend and as someone I never expected to have the _chance_ to speak to. I wouldn’t do _anything_ to jeopardize what we have. Yes, I crush on you, but so does, like, half the fucking planet. Yes, I’d jump for a chance to date you, but your _fiancé_ just fucking _dumped you_. You don’t need a lover to console you; you need a friend and a place to sip a beer and bitch about whatever sportsball is playing or debate a book or a movie or some shit like that.”

A long moment passed where they stared at each other. Then Shiro nodded and his demeanor settled into something relaxed, but almost defeated. It was the body language of someone newly, unexpectedly single. “I appreciate that.”

“Good. Because I don’t make these offers to very many people.”

“It’s hard for me to believe that you don’t already have someone.”

Keith laughed, going back to shelving some books that Coran had picked up from an estate sale that didn’t warrant the “place under glass” treatment. That was something that Coran specialized in. He had his Master’s in Library Science, but more than that, he just loved everything about books and knowledge. He’d done some guest spots on YouTube pawn shop and picker shows, but kept his performing to his weekly Drunk Shakespeare shows with a group of side-splitting comedians. “Despite how smooth I seem right now, I’m really a shitty person in a relationship. I don’t people well sometimes, and I get stupidly shy and feeling kinda judged by my lover. Even though that’s probably not true, logically not true, but whatever.”

Shiro nodded, solemnly taking that new piece of knowledge into account. Keith didn’t do well with body language but needed more vocal cues and phrases. Possibly written. That was good to know. “Does this bar have a kitchen?”

“Yep.”

“You seem awfully smug.”

“I know. You’ll see why.”

Two hours later, Shiro hissed under his breath as they bypassed the line for reservations with a wave from the _positively massive_ man standing guard at the door, “You didn’t tell me that this was a _Michelin-rated establishment_.” They had been _let in_ to the building just by Keith’s face a full half-hour before opening.

“Keith, glad to see you back. Who’s this?”

The two spun to the right to see a thin, tanned man a shaggy young beard obscuring the lower half of his face. Leaning against the wall with an old band shirt and scrubs with holes in the knees and ratty hems and wearing sport sandals was a man with a half-smirk on his face. Keith’s expression lifted into a broad grin. “Uncle! I didn’t realize that you were back! How did the competition go?”

“You’ll have to wait until the show airs, you little menace,” the man growled with a vague East European accent, hair spiked up in tufts and a wicked twinkle around his eyes. “Answer my question.”

“Takashi Shirogane,” Keith replied solemnly, eyes bright and happy. “Please put him on my list.”

The wiry chef locked eyes with Shiro before the twinkle intensified. And Shiro’s jaw dropped as he recognized the face under the beard. “Doctor Ulaz! Wait. He’s your _uncle_? He works at the Garrison’s Medical Unit. Hold on, you were out for two months because you were _competing_?! Competing for what?”

“Shirogane, you’ll get the same answer as Keith: wait and see. But yes, he’s my nephew on his maternal side,” Ulaz replied. “But we are not all related here, though we call each other by familial terms. Our family is big on informal adoption of members, and welcoming friendships with seriousness as well. Keith, do you intend to reserve the family room for private service?”

“No, I think that Shiro might benefit from it staying open to family. If that’s okay?” Keith turned, eyebrows furrowing, wondering if he had mis-stepped.

But Shiro’s eyes were bright, as well as his cheeks with color. “I’m sorry, Keith, you don’t know this about me, but I am a _massive_ foodie and I’ve been waitlisted from this place for two years and the family room was only supposed to be a _rumor_.”

“It’s hardly a rumor, but we try to keep the public out of our private areas of the establishment.” A soft huff behind Shiro made him spin and swallow harshly.

Keith leaned around him and smiled up at the massive man. “Hi, Uncle Koli. This is Takashi Shirogane. Shiro, my only other blood-relative uncle and the owner, Kolivan.”

“Welcome. Have Thace have another chat with Ezor about those wait lists, Ulaz, or you’ll do it. I don’t like hearing that someone new hasn’t been able to sit at our tables for that long.”

“Thace talked with her last time, you know. And she doesn’t respect me because I’m not here as much as you are.”

“Mm. That’s a very good point.” Turning back to Keith and their guest, he smiled just enough for it to be seen. “In regards to tonight, however, we have a few guest chefs learning the menu to compete against one another. Word of the competition was leaked only an hour ago, hence the unusual line. The family room has been set as the ‘unwind lounge,’ and they will be filming back there with most cameras facing towards the door and the couches, away from the table. However, if the host decides to interact with you, it will mean that you’d be on the show in some month’s time. Either sign the release forms and NDAs with Thace, or find somewhere else to be tonight, Keith.”

Shiro’s eyes snapped to Keith’s face as he asked, “Are you hosting _him_ again?”

“Mm. He’s asked about you again, you know. I think that he’d enjoy bickering with you and I think that he’ll have you both try all the samples and give honest feedback.”

Keith barked a laugh. “He’s not going to intimidate me out of my own family room! I’m not _that_ stupid to hide from him. He knows I’m still in school for this shit and find the right mentor.”

“Language, cub. Go get Shiro something from the bar before you bring him to say hi to Chef Ramsey and become that man’s stress relief ball for the evening.”

As Keith hauled him towards the bar _and only now noticed all the studio lighting holy shit_ , he asked, “What the _fuck _are you doing working at a _bookstore_ when your family knows _Gordon Ramsey_?!”__

__Shiro had the night of his life, starting with the best Maple Old Fashioned that he had _ever_ tasted. And then he ended up shocking Ramsey speechless because he didn’t realize that even celebrities were capable of being unbelievable fans. Before the night started, the chef had been in the family room to discuss the challenges of tonight’s menu to the cameras, and had stopped mid-sentence when he realized who had been sitting at the family table with two drinks and a plate of potato skins. “Is that Takashi Shirogane?”_ _

__Shiro blushed, smiled, and nodded. “Coincidentally, yes. Good evening, Chef Ramsey. Good luck to your contestants tonight.”_ _

__“Good evening, Commander. They’ll need it!”_ _

__Blushing further, Shiro waved a hand. “Just Shiro is fine, please. I’m just here—”_ _

__“He’s here because I dragged him in,” Keith said from the door, walking over with a second plate that contained edamame in one hand and a bottle of shoyu in the other. “Evening, Chef.”_ _

__“Evening, Keith! When are you going to try out for one of the cooking competitions?”_ _

__“When I finish culinary school, Chef. You know this.”_ _

__“And I _love_ bothering you about it. Your edamame?”_ _

__“Traditional recipe, actually. Here.”_ _

__The casual exchange had given Shiro’s blush time to recede, and he watched Ramsey’s face carefully as he processed the taste, texture, and quality of the soy beans. “Simple, wouldn’t win any awards for creativity, but it’s solidly traditional. Which I love. Thank you.”_ _

__“You’re welcome. Stop down anytime. Shiro hasn’t been here before and we’re not sure what he’d like to start with from the dinner service tonight so I figured we’d start with some classic appetizers and possibly sneak into video village for a while.”_ _

__“I’ll let them know to expect you.” He stole a potato skin before continuing the debrief to the cameras, unashamedly eating it between sentences._ _

__When Ramsey came rocketing downstairs to vent an hour into dinner service, the cameras were rolling when the chef stopped dead in his tracks and a broad grin lit up his face. “Keith. Go upstairs and show them how it’s done. Shiro, I want you to come watch the other contestant’s reactions to Keith. You’re going to be my second eyes, and I need to know how they take to his instruction and execution of the instructions.”_ _

__Grinning, Keith stood up and took his leather jacket off to pull on a chef’s jacket. Pulling his hair back, tying it off, and pulling a simple black hairband on to keep the strays out of his face, Keith asked, “How much of an asshole do you want me to be?”_ _

__“Oh, _do_ go and inspect what they tried to send out of the kitchen.”_ _

__Shiro had never been more impressed than he was in this moment. Keith didn’t belong in a bookstore; Keith belonged supervising an entire kitchen. It was hard _not_ to want to follow his every step. He was quick to instruct and encourage, but he was merciless in the face of laziness or willful ignorance. He had done the chicken plate to perfection, offered Chef Ramsey the first bite while he stood back, then smiled at the short moan of delight. “This. Everyone try this, because _this_ is the quality you should be striving for.”_ _

__“Dammit, Chef,” Keith grumbled, shoving his hands on his hips but keenly watching the expressions of those who tasted his dish. He saw Shiro doing the same and nodded to himself. He knew who would be teachable, and who would be trying to reinvent a dish that they were instructed to imitate._ _

__And when he and Ramsey were circling and Shiro was sitting on a stool with his dinner and a beer like he’s done this every night of his life, Ulaz sauntered in, clean-shaven and in his front-of-house clothing. “I heard you saw the rarest creature: Chef Kogane.”_ _

__“Why’s he working at a bookstore?”_ _

__“That was his mother’s guidance, actually. And Kolivan admitted that it was wise, which was hilarious because he _loves_ being the Always Right Older Brother. Keith’s really been relaxed and has been truly coming into his own. Otherwise, he’d be going to culinary school, _and_ working at a restaurant, _and_ working with his family, _and_ living around family, _and_ probably going very quietly insane.” Ulaz looked smug. “We’re protecting him from burnout, and he realized it by his second semester.”_ _

__“He’s gifted. He did _this_. . . I don’t even know what to call this outside of ‘umami beef entrée.’ Anyway. He did this in about a third of the time that the contestants have been clocking in at. And he was _distracted_ while he explained the entire recipe and cooking instructions.”_ _

__“I think he’d like to hear your praise from _you_ , Shiro.”_ _

__“I’m . . . Ulaz, you _know_.”_ _

__“Adam has not been quiet, I agree. And frankly, you _do_ need time to recover from his constant barrage against your own confidence in knowing your body, your condition, your ability to do your job.” Patting Shiro’s right shoulder, Ulaz smiled down at him. “And Keith thinks that he’s batting out of his league for _you_ , Shiro. Consider that. Please let Chef Ramsey know on his next pass that we have cut the line for the night, and the kitchen closes in half an hour. Final orders will be coming in fast and heavy.”_ _

__It was eerily calming to be in such a chaotic environment, where everyone seemed to know what they were doing. In a way, it was like being in the control room for the slingshot missions. There was stress, tension, and a growing fatigue, but the moments of every milestone reached, the celebrations as they had several entirely successful missions, were all worth it._ _

____

~*~

When Shiro showed up again for the first time since he was released from the hospital, Keith ran right up to him and embraced him the moment he walked in through the bookstore doors. The smaller man held him up as other employees also came over to hold him tight. His one arm was trembling as he tried to hold tightly onto Keith’s waist.

He couldn’t hold it in anymore and he sobbed as he just gushed broken sentences about the ordeal, about waking up and realizing that he had to sell off his _entire life_ to pay for his medical bills at Galra Hospital because he hadn’t been admitted as an emergency, but as a transfer patient from the Garrison’s medical ward, following a little-known loophole that made him responsible for every single charge after the date he was told he was no longer employed by the Garrison, only one week into his stay in the hospital, and he faced a necessary surgery the next day to clean up the amputation site and then post-op observation, and then who _knew_ what else? He was in the hospital for a _month_ , and had just gotten out to find that his apartment complex manager could only let him into his apartment to retrieve civilian identification. Assessors from the bank had already come to his apartment, tagged everything, and he literally only had the clothing on his back and the wallet in his pocket. He had been emailed that list of all he had once owned, but didn’t have a cell phone or a computer to access it.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t _legal_. But with Galra Hospital owned by the son of the man who owned Galra Bank which owned the housing for NASA Garrison, Takashi Shirogane knew that they had snuck in some sort of waiver that they’d show in court that he’d signed in regards to his medical fees and his personal belongings going to auction to repay his debt.

Keith’s back straightened so fast that it actually popped. He fished around in his lanyard nametag pocket and pulled out an expired coupon, scribbling a note on the back of it. “Go to Marmora and get something to eat and drink. You stay here as long as you like today and any day, okay? Antok will be at the door, and give this—”

Shiro shook his head. “I can’t do that on your name. I can find food or something for myself.”

Coran’s voice rang out over Keith, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk all protesting vehemently. “Neither of you are going to be doing anything on your own! Keith, I’ll clock you out at your usual time and will have Hunk walk your items down you once Shay gets in. Get Shiro over to your family’s place and let me know how much time you’ll need to have off from here and we’ll work something out.”

Before he could really comprehend it, Shiro was bundled down the block and into the family room with Keith guarding his right side and Thace, the bartender, taking his left. Bowls and plates of food were placed on the table in a family-style setting for lunch, and Kolivan sat down directly opposite Shiro. “You are a brave man, Shiro. Keith told me what happened while we were making dinner. I believe that you could be very wrong about the enormity of what you have lost.” He leaned in closer. “I will make the remainder of that medical bill go away, give you a place to live, and give you a job.”

“I . . . I _literally_ could never repay you, Chef Kolivan.”

“Did you hear me mention repayment? It is an _investment_ to host you while we find a lawyer who is willing to hear your case, and hopefully, an investment into a potential permanent employee. You were wrongfully terminated from the Garrison, and you should not be held responsible for bills that were for treating injuries received while literally on the job. Beyond that, the potential for you to have signed any waivers while in your unmedicated, purely lucid mind with a signature that would match _anything_ that you could have done with an undamaged right hand seems a little shady to me.” Kolivan sat back. “So what will it be?”

Shiro’s eyes were overflowing again, but he couldn’t stop the tears. “Yes. _Please_ , Chef. Just tell me what I can do to help you.”

“You may regret saying that.” But the man stood, leaned over the table and pulled Shiro closer by a gentle hand to the back of his neck. He kissed the white fringe and leaned back enough to make eye contact. “But you are family, now. If you need any help in _any way_ , I _expect_ you to contact one of my Blades. Keith, you have the list of available rooms, yes?”

“Yep. With Regris off at college, I figured I could let him stay in the second bedroom while we get more permanent housing secured. I’ll get him settled once Hunk brings me my keys.”

“Good. Shiro.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You are now my reservations coordinator. Keith, I need you to show him the ropes. Ezor was let go a few weeks ago because she still wasn’t adhering to the new-to-regular-patron quotas. Coran is aware that I could have had to pull you for this since before she was out, so he and I will coordinate your pay.”

“Thank you, Uncle Koli.”

“You’re welcome.”

Thace smiled at the tears starting to gather at the corners of Shiro’s eyes, but he was roughly jostled out of the way as his husband crawled over his lap and wrapped firm arms around Shiro. Ulaz’s voice was steel. “He stays with us, Thace.”

“And what if I want to host him?” a strong female voice asked from the doorway.

Shiro’s face froze in shock. “Keith, how are you related to Chef Krolia?”

“Oh. Uh. You-you didn’t know?” Keith’s cheeks colored and he grinned. “Shiro, meet my Mom. Mom, this is—”

“Oh, I know who Takashi Shirogane is. I just didn’t know that you were _courting_ him so subtly that even Kolivan didn’t sniff this out. No, he stays with _me_ until he finds a place that he truly likes and that the family approves of.” She walked closer, placing the last dish on the table: a large bamboo container filled with three layers of many, many kinds of sushi.

Krolia was one of the first female sushi chefs to compete internationally and place as a non-Japanese and non-male. She came in third, admitting that she hadn’t read her judges right at a critical test. She had broken from the East European family cooking made gourmet to apprentice under several Japanese chefs. When she had met Keith’s father, a Korean-American cuisine journalist, they had eloped six months later. She continued her work traveling as a chef to continue her education, and he had followed her to explore the various foods of the world. When she had gained the knowledge she needed, they returned to the States and settled down.

“Dad!” Keith was up and hugging his father tightly around the waist, helping him over to sit beside Shiro while Keith took a stool between his father and mother. “I didn’t realize you were coming. I’m so glad you could make it out today.”

Heath huffed a small chuckle, his left hand reaching over to hold out to Shiro with a bright but crooked smile. Curiously, Shiro reached with his own left and shook it, realizing that Heath’s right side wasn’t . . . really moving much. The older man lifted his left eyebrow in a mischievous “caught you staring” expression and began to skillfully handle a set of chopsticks. 

Kolivan reached over to steal some sushi.

Shiro realized in sharp, sudden focus why everything in this restaurant served in the family room was already bite-sized or chopstick friendly. It wasn’t just for him, and that was both a relief and a terrible burden of trust to actually see _why_.

They _knew_ what disability was like.

Heath had disappeared from the public eye as a vlogger as he began firefighter training. He began blogging about food and sharing recipes that he and Krolia had played with. They celebrated the birth of their son, and four birthdays. Then there was silence for three months, and a post from Krolia. Heath had been in a terrible accident during a fire. He was alive, but was forcibly retired while he healed from a coma and a stroke that had happened a week into his hospitalization. 

And he felt his eyes cloud over with tears again, but before they could fall, he was pulled to Heath’s shoulder, his right eye pressed closed against the fabric and a calloused, gentle hand brushing tears away from the left eye. Ulaz was rubbing Shiro’s back, and Keith took his hand, kissing his knuckles and holding that hand firmly between his own. When he went home to Krolia and Heath’s house, Keith went with them.

They slept in the guest bed together, with Shiro’s back to the wall and Keith taking the side closest to the door. He fell asleep with his face buried in dark, dark hair.

~*~

Living with Heath was some of the best post-trauma healing that he could have experienced. When he stumbled off-balance that very first morning he stayed with them and went to catch himself with his _right_ arm, Shiro broke a coatrack, gained new bruises, and roared in frustration before going limp and pressing his face against the hardwood floor.

A limping gait drew closer at a surprising pace, and Heath settled himself down on the floor beside Shiro, bad leg tucked in with the good leg pinning it close. He took in the situation, blinked at Shiro, and said the first word in his presence.

“Fuck.”

It surprised a laugh out of the younger man, and Heath nodded. “Fuck shit?”

“Shit fuck,” Shiro replied, slowly pushing himself up to a sitting position, still feeling shaky after the fall.

Keith looked around the corner at the two. “Dad, Shiro? You two good?”

“Love,” Heath replied with a grin and a nod. He indicated his throat and then pointed at Shiro.

“Good. I love you too, Dad.” Coming fully around the corner, Keith moved the pieces of coat rack off to one side before sitting down with them. “So, how much do you know about my family from the media?”

“I binged his vlog when I first found it, then read through everything on the blog. They called you Akira online. I knew that Heath had been injured while working a fire, and had been in a coma for almost a month.”

“And the stroke while he was in the coma.”

“Yeah.”

“That stroke took out the connection between what he’s thinking and turning it into spoken words. He’s the best that he’ll ever be, but he has a spoken vocabulary of about twenty words. Written, however, is still his forte, and if he signs for a pen, his tablet should almost always be on the kitchen island.” As Keith spoke, Heath kept nodding, affirming what his son was saying. Holding his hand up and waving it, he got Keith’s attention and then mimed stirring a pot.

“Fuck!” Up Keith jumped to stir whatever it was that was almost about to burn on the stove.

Shiro grinned at the word usage, then looked to his friend’s father. “So, what you were saying is that it’s okay to get mad when shit like this happens?”

Heath nodded. “Fuck. Breathe. Go.”

Shiro watched as Heath carefully rolled himself to his feet, then looked at the mess and began to grab the pieces and try to organize it better. Heath tapped a fist against his bad shoulder, and when Shiro looked at him, the man shook his head, tugging on Shiro’s shirt to bring him out to the kitchen. “Fuckbreathego. Key!”

“Yeah, Pops?”

“Fuckbreathego!”

“Shiro, that’s shorthand for, ‘Fuck this situation, but take a breath and calm yourself, and let’s get back on the go.’ That’s been his motto, and he wants you to consider implementing it.”

Krolia strolled in to give her husband a kiss and a ruffle of his hair. He beamed back at her. “Krolia. Love.”

“I love you too. Let’s get some food into everyone, and then we can get today started. Keith is bringing Shiro clothes shopping with one of his frenemies—”

“Oh, god, mom, he is, but really? Slang?”

“Lance is _an established and highly-paid stylist_ , you absolute plebian child of mine. No matter what he actually does for his nine-to-five. Don’t argue. If you need someone to help corral him, call Pidge.”

Within an hour, Krolia had buzzed Shiro’s hair into his undercut style again, he had showered, and Keith helped him shave the week of stubble off, letting him do as much as he could with his remaining hand. The younger man had initially paused at seeing Shiro’s stump, drawing in a deep breath and then leaning in to wrap his hands around the chilled terminus of Shiro’s arm. Fearlessly, he met his idol’s gaze and vowed, “I’m not letting you face any of this alone, Shiro.”

And Lance killed the mood as he burst into the room with some bags. “I brought over the basics so he wouldn’t look too out-of-place! Hi, Keith. Hi Shiro, I’m Lance. I’ll leave these for you guys, and I’ll be saying hi to your dad, Keith!” And he was gone again with a whistled tune.

Shiro blinked. “Um. Is that normal?”

“No, he’s actually pretty wound-up. He and I went through a phase where we idolized you and were pretty fucking competitive over trying to get into space programs, but neither of us had the aptitude or the personality to keep going with the more-practical things. I wanted to stay close to Dad. He realized that he’s really good at star charts and navigation. So he and Pidge created a startup company that creates navigation systems. It’s shaped like a phone, with a really damn good micro-camera in the center of the device’s back and a screen on the opposite side. You lay it screen-down on a flat surface so the camera points at the sky. It relies on a special camera that can see the stars through clouds, then it calculates their track with a second shot from the same location fifteen minutes later. I’ve used a prototype while camping and it’s absolutely unreal how accurate it is.”

“I really would like to go camping with you,” Shiro blurted. He winced, shoving his hand over his mouth, and then looked away with a blush. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Shit.

But Keith was smiling, blushing lightly. “I’d love that a lot.”

~*~

The following week was busy enough that Shiro was forced to adapt to his limitations faster, but each time that he felt overwhelmed, someone was seemingly magically available to assist him. He couldn’t understand this, and finally, when even _that_ annoyed him, he found himself growling curses at Krolia.

She was unfazed, let him rant in the family room with his remaining arm flinging around as he bitched about his own fucking handwriting _of all things_ , and then when he ran out of breath and tears were running down his face, he asked hoarsely, “Why the hell is everyone being so kind to me?”

Cracking a smile, she reached up with work-roughened hands and cupped his face. “Because this is what family does when one of us is hurting. Now, What’s _really_ bothering you? It’s not the handwriting problem.”

“I keep trying to reach with my right arm, and . . . it’s not there.”

“Okay.” She brushed the silvering hair out of his face. “What else is going on?”

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That I’m going to find out if my disease has progressed when I meet with Ulaz next week.”

“He’s going over your medical records today, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I want you to know that you, Shiro, will _always_ have a place with my family. You’re one of Kolivan’s Blades, now.”

“But what would I be able to even _do_ if I was crippled?”

Krolia wasn’t about to spare his emotions. “You mean more than you already are _now_? Shiro, you have a disability. You have more than one if I’m going to count PTSD and your preexisting condition that you’re concerned about.” Leading him to sit and taking a seat next to him, she continued. “Heath is our graphic designer and food photographer. He needs help setting up the lightbox or adjusting lighting at times, but that’s what he brings to Marmora. He writes up the new menus, sends them for print, and manages our social media.”

“I want to get _better_ , though.”

“Sweetheart, why do you think that my husband keeps pushing himself? He could have _died_ in that fire. He _should_ have by all accounts. But of all the functions that he lost, he kept a burning will to stay alive for his family. And then he realized what kind of burden he was on us, and that’s a very real emotion to process. But the first time he expressed that we shouldn’t be wasting our time on him, do you know who told him off?”

“Keith?”

“Bet your ass Keith told him off.” Krolia grinned broadly. “And he was only about seven. Straight up looked at his dad in the eye and said, ‘You changed my diapers when I couldn’t do it myself. So let me open that jar because you can’t do it right now.’ Just like that. And he returned to helping Heath make dinner like I had told him to. Heath later learned in occupational therapy how to find new ways to open jars, _just_ to piss Keith off.”

“Keith is . . . pretty amazing.”

“He is. But don’t let my angelic stories fool you; he was a hellion in high school and decided to express all his anger and frustration that his dad wasn’t able to do what other dads could do around that time. He’s got a juvie record for stupid shit. But that’s really it, Shiro. And that’s why we’re not surprised at your anxiety attacks, at you expressing your frustration. Our family has faced a lot of pain. We know when to give space and when to be at someone’s elbow to support them.”

“If I really need space, and a lot of it, would they let me have it?”

Krolia blinked, then looked up at the ceiling before shrugging. “Maybe? We’re also the kind to let you walk off on your own, then someone will self-assign themselves to approach when the moment seems right. Keith is likely to be the most silent companion during those times, though.”

“So my pain isn’t . . . unwelcome?”

“Sweetheart, do you know why Antok doesn’t really speak much?”

“No.”

“His vocal chords were fucked up in a fight he had as a child. Speaking is literally painful.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know that Heath has constant pain registering from his right hip because of how he has relearned how to walk? Or that Kolivan has chronic knee and back pain from being a paratrooper before becoming a chef? Or that Thace still has nerve damage from a grease burn on one of his arms?”

“No.”

“Pain is part of our lives. And it’s part of our responsibility to adjust to our pain.”

“You forgot the best pain story, Mom,” Keith said from the doorway. He smiled at Shiro. “You gave birth to _my_ fat ass.”

“Keith was a nine-pound baby delivered naturally,” Krolia replied in a deadpan tone. “On that note, stop thinking that _any_ of your pain is an inconvenience to any of us, Shiro. It’s natural to worry about a health condition, but talk with Ulaz when he gets here tonight. Don’t wait until next week; he probably wouldn’t wait either.”

“It’s really strange to have such a personal relationship with your doctor at times, huh?” Keith said with a grin.

“That about sums it up.”

But Ulaz had nothing but puzzling news. “I compared the scans from your final pre- _Kerberos_ physical against all the scans you had post- _Kerberos_. Shiro, look at this.”

Takashi Shirogane had no signs of the disease. He hadn’t even felt a cessation of symptoms. His cells were still replicating as normal, but the progression of atrophy had not only ceased, it began _reversing_. And it was still reversing if the last scan he’d been ordered to have was to be believed. Actual reversal of joint damage was happening. “How?”

“I don’t know, Shiro. But it’s not tracking in a malicious way, rather more of a controlled regeneration. My guess would be something to do with the unique levels of radiation you tolerated being in the cockpit.”

“I’ve been ordered not to contact the Holts.”

“They’ve offered me their scans, as they weren’t fully shielded to assist with repairs while the other members of the mission were entirely protected. They gave me permission to pass along that they have also experienced a change in their own biology. Matt’s rate of aging has slowed, and Sam’s is also following along your own line. This indicates to me that Matt is nearing some ‘golden ability’ range, while you and Sam have had enough physical wear and tear that you required some ‘backing up’ to that golden range.” Ulaz sat back, throwing his hands up. “This is honestly the sort of shit my dad would watch on Star Trek, Shiro. Do you get it? This is ‘fountain of youth’ territory. I don’t even know where to _begin_ with how to document this.”

“Can we start that _later_ , though?” Shiro asked, rubbing at his face. “I . . . I really want to go to sleep and not think about this for a while.”

“That’s fair. I’m going to go and drown myself in awful tequila and hope to god I’m sick enough to call out tomorrow.”

“Wow. Playing the long game?” Thace asked from the doorway. “I’m not dealing with your hungover ass tomorrow, so don’t drink so much that you’ll regret having to take care of yourself.”

~*~

Shiro fell into life at _Marmora_ as if he had been born into it. And there were days where he completely forgot the heyday of his first career with NASA Garrison. There were days that made things more difficult than others, but those were usually outliers. There was the series of trials that ended with _millions_ of dollars paid to him for the bullshit that had happened when he went public with his legal accusations against Galra Hospital and Galra Bank. There were days where his demons were bigger than his will and Keith would fill in at the reservations desk for him.

It wasn’t long before he started sitting in the kitchen during dinner services, out of the way and watching the chefs work their magic.

It took just one more year, but then Keith was done with culinary school. He had left the bookstore to focus on _Marmora_ and testing new dishes through Chef Specials. Though still starstruck, Shiro was far more professional to the cooks and their contestants than he had pretended to be whenever they visited. And it usually went something like this:

Kolivan strolled into Shiro’s office, watching the man continue to do things with his left hand while his right hand, an experimental prosthetic supplied by none other than Sam, Matt, Pidge, and Pidge’s boyfriend Hunk. For that matter, he hadn’t realized that Pidge and Hunk were an item until the four started working on his arm. Shiro hadn’t known that Pidge and Keith were going to the same university until the actual graduation, where Lance and Hunk also walked across the stage.

And the local media went _wild_ when _Marmora_ shut down for it’s first and (so far) only private party for the four graduates.

They (and some paparazzi that still followed Shiro) went even more insane when someone had grabbed a photo of Shiro and Keith’s first kiss as they sat on the fire escape with their drinks.

Pulling his mind back after months of hard work of learning how to do so, he saw Kolivan rest a card on Shiro’s desk. “They called. What do the books look like in two weeks?”

“We were their contingency plan?” Shiro blinked at the name. “Wait, called like in the Victorian days? Are we _really_ viewed like that?”

Snorting, the chef and owner patted Shiro’s back with a firm hand. “We’re not, but I think that you’ll be interested to know that there _was_ talk about wondering how someone might attempt to steal you away.”

“By, what, a channel or network? To do what?” Shiro was busy pulling up the date written on the back of the card. While the computer loaded the reservations, he flipped it over and his eyebrows jumped up under his fringe. “Oh. _OhmyGod._ ”

“Alton Brown finally called.”

“Wait, _that_ was your bar to reach?!”

Ignoring Shiro’s wheezed question, Kolivan leaned over his shoulder to eyeball the reservations. “Freeze that list. We need ten seats for both that day and the next . . .” He clicked forward a day and nodded at seeing that there were even more seats available. “They’re going to be trying our food as prepared by our normal chefs, then getting a crash course the next morning in some of our techniques. Then, they’re going to be running our dinner service the next night. Inform Sunday night’s guests today that they can either choose to eat free that night, or that they can choose a different night to come by.”

And Shiro was on the move again, and it had been just another bump in the road. His prosthetic got better, and he began relearning how to cook some of the more Japanese traditional foods of his childhood for Krolia, Heath, and Keith. There was no more talk about him moving out, not after Keith moved back home and they spent a summer renovating the basement into a two-bedroom apartment together. Time passed in a blur, a dream, and then he was looking up at his desk to see two men eyeing him speculatively.

Prosthetic still gripping his phone, he indicated one moment while he shorthanded the dates that Ulaz was rattling off to him. “Okay, so you need additional front of house bodies for those dates because of the . . . Ulaz, for real, _how much are they fucking paying us to shut our doors._ ”

The new man’s eyes jumped, but the first man’s eyes were glittering with humor.

And Shiro blinked at the number quoted to him, said, “This is short notice even for _that_ amount of money. Fuck you, I’ll get this done.” Hanging up without another word, he smiled genuinely. “Perks of the family business is that they’re already swearing about changes to a reservation before they get to me.”

“Let me guess, he just found out, too.”

“You bet. Good to see you again, Chef Ramsey.” He reached his prosthetic out to shake without thinking, and was gratified to not see a hint of hesitation before it was gripped, shaken, and released. “And you’re Alton Brown. I’m Takashi Shirogane, Shiro for short, please.”

“Oh, do tell him who you are here,” Ramsey teased. He had been in at times while in the States to enjoy a family meal with the other _Marmora_ chefs and had become something of a penpal with Shiro when they had the time to jot an email down with life updates and send it. 

Grinning, Shiro added, “I started by only managing the reservations almost two years ago, but I am now the Maître d’ here, and am Ulaz’s replacement so he can focus more on his medical career.”

“But . . . you were the hero of the _Kerberos_ mission,” Chef Brown murmured.

“I was. And that chapter of my life has closed, except for if you want to hear me bitch about the people from that mission who are still in my life and tinker endlessly with my prosthetic. Regardless, that’s chat for after a couple drinks. Thank you for coming in early; Chef Kolivan wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be surprised. Will you both follow me?”

Kolivan stood staring up at a whiteboard with Krolia to his right and Keith to his left. Keith turned and held his right hand out to Shiro without taking his eyes off of the menu selection for Alton Brown’s competition. “C’mere. Are we being too mean?”

Shiro felt the dry hand grip his own with nervous tension, and he smiled, brushing Keith’s braid aside to rest his chin on a shoulder that had almost caught up with his own height. Reading the board, he sighed and closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Good,” Brown said, eyeing the menu critically. “I have some people who will need the reality check. And his eyes widened when he realized that it was a very, very tall woman beside him. “Chef Krolia!”

“Is the sushi flight too much?” she asked honestly, turning to him and nodding in greeting. “This is a delicate art, as much visual as taste and texture.”

And the conversation went downhill from there, ending up in the family room and filling the table with papers, pens, pencils, highlighters, glasses of beer or cider, and then Heath walked in with his tablet for Shiro, who stood and began to discuss logistics for the new season menu photoshoot. They were working with a local modeling company that was ran by and only employed individuals with disabilities. 

The chaos was wonderful, the satisfaction palpable. Watching the contestants stumble over themselves to complete the challenges was beyond amusing, and that’s when Alton stopped dinner service cold and stared right at him and Keith, who were again sitting off to one side, Shiro with his right hand ready for the phone while the left was sneaking another spoon of rice out of Keith’s bowl.

“Shiro.”

Dropping the spoon and frowning at the rice now littering a laughing Keith’s lap, he looked up. “Yes, Chef?”

“Do you have formal training?”

“No, chef. I have food handling certificates to help with preparation of the various ingredients, but I don’t have formal training like Chef Kogane.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Two years.”

“And you and Keith have known each other for longer than that, yes?”

“Yes, Chef. Almost five years, and have been watching him cook for almost four. I’ve just started cooking again in the last year as part of various therapies while I continue to recover.”

“You’ve had a lot to overcome, and I’m glad to see that you’ve had some amazing support. Now, hold on, there was a rice bowl that had been made for each of the contestants and myself as part of a lunch, and that’s not on the menu. It was the one dish that Chef Kolivan didn’t give us a chef’s name for.”

“Yes, Chef. That was called _soboro don_.”

“Why did Chef Kolivan ask you to cook? Were you nervous to see how it was received?”

Shiro laughed. “It was just my turn to help make lunch and was told to make enough for everyone. We often have extra mouths around here, and there’s nothing more terrifying than Krolia watching you as she’s eating your food.”

“Damn right!” Keith laughed, still trying to brush off the last bits of rice from his lap.

Alton Brown’s grin kept getting wider. “So I’m guessing that you also know something about sushi, since you’re family to Krolia.”

“And have been eating and making it since I was ten and barely spoke English.”

“Come show them how this is done.”

Wiping his mouth to hide his nerves, knowing that he was going to be called on _sometime_ during the night, he stood and pulled on a jacket and washed his hands. A glove went on over the prosthetic to keep the joints clean, and he walked over.

And one of them blanched hard and wavered on her feet. “Oh. _You. _”__

__“Takashi Shirogane, Maitre d’ of _Marmora_ , formerly of NASA.”_ _

__“Currently gay and very much taken, thank you,” Keith called over absently before picking the phone up as it rang. “We’re paused on the sushi flight and Shiro just got called on to teach the class. Might want to stall with rounds of water and drink refill run.” He hung up and grinned, giving Shiro a thumb’s up._ _

__Turning, Shiro grinned at the contestants._ _

__He was right where he was supposed to be._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Since Tumblr is defunct right now and I'm really hardly any good on Twitter or IG for fandom-related things, I've started up a community on Discord. If you would like to join, [**here's the link**](https://discord.gg/MnwzMDt)! Please make sure to read any pinned messages and the channel descriptions!


End file.
